USUK Masterpiece
by Annabelle-Kirkland
Summary: After an aspiring British artist moves to a small town, he thinks it would be the perfect opportunity to get the peace and quiet he needs to find his inspiration. Instead, he finds himself face to face with the man of his dreams riding a bicycle for a living.


After an aspiring British artist moves to a small town, he thinks it would be the perfect opportunity to get the peace and quiet he needs to find his inspiration. Instead, he finds himself face to face with the man of his dreams riding a bicycle for a living. Not exactly the perfect fairytale he imagined, but the bike courier never expected to want to stay in his hometown because of a stranger.

Warnings: Use of vulgar language and extreme gayness.

Alfred knew his job wasn't the most exciting. All he was, if he was truly honest with himself, was a cheap mailman. No gas money, no insurance, and no decent way of transporting packages that couldn't fit in a basket. A newsie with slightly more responsibility. Yes, that was a better way to put it. In a small town though, there wasn't much else to do.

There was a time he planned on moving away to the big city as soon as he collected enough funds, maybe become an actor. It had been his dream since he was old enough to understand how much of a dead-end town he was living in. When he watched TV with his friends, he was enthralled by the towering skyscrapers and the airplanes casually gliding in the sky like humans were meant to fly. It just made him giddy.

In fact, he had started to pack up his things when he went on a delivery that changed his life.

July 5th. The sun was unforgiving, blazing down like mother nature was pissed off. The local weatherman would report it was the hottest day of the year in their area. Of course, Alfred's mode of transportation for his job had to be one without air conditioning. Trudging up hills to a point he thought he was going to pass out from exhaustion was absolute torture, but he did have to admit flying down the other side of the hill and feeling the cool refreshing breeze hit his face balanced it all out.

He had his letter of resignation all ready, typed out in Times New Roman his not really sincerest apologies he was looking for work elsewhere. Heck, even if his boss refused to give him a recommendation, Al was pretty sure most that were hiring wouldn't take a former bike courier seriously. Might as well leave it off of his resumé.

And he was halfway to the office when he realized he had left the letter at home right next to the front door.

"Son of a fuck nugget," he cursed under his breath, checking his pockets as he struggled to keep his bike steady. After literally writing on his hand to remember the damn thing, he still managed to forget it. Figures.

He considered turning back to get it, but one look at his watch made him toss that idea down the drain. With only three minutes to get to work, there's no way he would make it in time. Just because he planned on quitting didn't mean he was going to be a crappy employee. It was still his job for time being. Sighing, he continued pedaling as fast as he could to the post office.

His boss was standing on the porch of the little building with a clipboard by the time Alfred got there. "Cutting in close, Jones. I was starting to get worried."

"Hey, I haven't been late since you hired me, Mr. Simmons. Don't tell me you're losing faith in your number one employee?"

"You're my only bike courier, I don't have much choice."

Alfred grinned and stopped in front of the porch steps, pushing his kickstand out with the toe of his shoe before getting off. "So, what's the load today? There better not be any insanely heavy packages, my back still hurts from Monday."

The man shook his head and placed some letters along with a square shaped package into Al's arms. "Nah, today's a pretty calm day. A lot of the folks are out of town still from the holiday and told me to keep the mail until they returned."

As the dirty blond began to put the mail into the basket on the front of his bike, his boss paused and tapped his chin. "There was something else I was gonna tell ya... if only you had been here earlier when I still remembered."

"Haha. We both know you would've forgotten even if I was here an hour earlier." Alfred glanced at the address on the package and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't one he had delivered to before, but the street name was familiar. "Did someone new move into town?"

Mr. Simmons nodded and his face lit up. "That was what I was gonna tell ya! Some guy moved into Clara's old house and renovated it. I'm surprised it took him this long to get mail. Ms. Lisa said he's been around for at least a month now."

To be honest, Al wasn't listening to intently to the heaping pile of exposition and got back on his bike. "Uh-huh. Well, since this is such a small load do you still want me to report back?"

"Nah, you should be fine. I have a dentist appointment at 10 anyway so I probably won't even be here by the time you're done."

That was fine with Alfred. The shorter the workday, the better. He had an item based pay so there was no real consequence for the lack of hours. There were at least 10 letters in his basket and a package, he was pretty sure his paycheck would be fine.

His deliveries went without incident, most people going off to work so he didn't have to engage in awkward small talk. It's not that he didn't like his fellow townsfolk, it was just that the atmosphere is really different when you're on the job versus meeting at the supermarket. The day was turning out to be great despite his forgetfulness and he was ecstatic when he saw the last house on his list looming over the hill he was vigorously pedaling up.

And as he began to go downhill, his breath was taken away. Not because of the exercise, but the gorgeous figure he saw on the front lawn of the little cottage.

A man with pale blond hair more on the verge of white was kneeling next to a shrub of white flowers with red centers. As Alfred got closer, he saw that the mysterious man had a canvas set up and a palette sporting an array of paints in his left hand. He parked his bike in front of the crude gravel driveway and stood there, just taking it all in.

The blond had a simple white apron on, only stained with a few flecks of paint. A sun hat shaded his eyes from Al's view, but he was sure they were as beautiful as the rest of him. A watering can was nearby, along with a pair of gardening shears. It took Alfred a full minute to remember he was there because of a job.

He swallowed hard and got off of the bike, holding the package and letter close to his chest which just made the pounding in his chest more evident. _Oh God,_ he thought, _Don't say something stupid._

"Delivery for-"

Holy fuck he didn't even read the name on the damn package. He quickly fumbled with the mail trying to find the label, hearing the soft crunching of dirt as the man responded to his voice. Sweat was practically pouring from his armpits now, erasing any trace of his deodorant, and he felt his face get warmer than the summer's air. Finally, he managed to find the now smeared name and began to stutter it out. "Arthur Kirk-"

And then he looked back up.

Arthur was standing up and facing him, his apron gently flapping in the breeze. Since he had set his palette down, his free hand gripped the rim of his hat so he wouldn't fly off his head and the other held a paintbrush. If that wasn't enough to paralyze Alfred, his gaze landed on his eyes.

Emeralds. Perfect fields of spring grass lightly dusted by the morning dew. It made his monstrous eyebrows somehow look attractive, an act that startled yet intrigued Al. His voice was nowhere to be found. Mouth agape in mid-sentence, his vocal cords seemed to be tangled into knots.

"I don't know of any Arthur Kirks. That is unless you mean Kirkland?" Of course he had to be British too. Luckily for him though, God seemed to be satisfied with the amount of suffering He had put the poor boy through so Alfred found his voice.

He cleared his throat again and gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah, sorry about that. You must be Arthur Kirkland."

"The one and only. And you are?" He smiled back and Al was positive he was going to pass out then and there. Part of him was just praying for God to strike down his gay ass so he wouldn't have any more chances to embarrass himself.

But he had to fight through it. "Alfred Jones, the friendly neighborhood bike courier." Ugh. He offered the box. "Here you go, sorry if whatever is inside is a little baked. It's fucking boiling out here." The cuss word just slipped out, and he felt his heart practically jump into his throat. Great first impression so far, really.

The man just nodded in understanding as he took the package. "Yes, I'll have to go back inside soon. I just had to make sure I got at least a decent start on the painting before the flowers wilted."

"They're really pretty," Alfred offered, his brain going on autopilot. "I haven't seen them before."

Arthur's face lit up. "They're Hibiscus syriacus. Rose of Sharon. I planted them since they attract butterflies and hummingbirds so I might manage to get more inspiration for my work." He lowered his gaze and shyly fiddled with the tape on the cardboard box. "I apologize, I'm ranting. You probably have to get going."

Shaking his head, Al kicked his kickstand back up and smiled. "Don't worry about it, I saved the best delivery for last." _Fucking Christ, can you get any more cheesy?!_

Luckily, the Brit didn't seem to mind and gave a simple wave. "Be careful, it's too hot out to be outside for too long. You'll get heatstroke or worse."

"I'll make sure to head straight home. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to heatstroke." Yup, Alfred had to get out of there before he ended up puking from embarrassment. Without another word, he pedaled off as fast as he could.

Thus concluded the time he met the love of his life.

~-~

The morning air was as crisp as the leaves that fluttered to the ground and scattered across the neighborhood without rhyme or logic. The scent of freshly brewed tea lingered in the small cottage as it would for the next few hours. Maybe the whole day depending on how much tea was made that day. And that all depended on how much the fresh air was bothering Arthur's throat.

The British blond slouched deeper into his rocking chair as he took a long sip of his cup of earl grey and shifted the sketchbook in his lap. It was only 8 in the morning yet a runny nose was already threatening its arrival and his head pounded in marching rhythm. Soldiers of mother nature's wrath dancing on his temple and slamming their weapons into his tender brain. Nothing would've suited Arthur more if he would've closed the window and headed back to bed to read a good book. Maybe even sketch for a bit. Anything else would've been better.

But all of those plans would've been faulty for the fact that the Brit was waiting for something. More importantly, someone (though he would deny it to anyone who'd dare accused him of doing so).

Yes. Arthur Kirkland was torturing his sinuses in order to see the cute bike courier make his daily delivery.

Most who knew the man would've found it absolutely absurd that he of all people would inconvenience himself just to get a glimpse of a person he had never worked up the nerve to ask for their number or offer them a cup of tea inside. In fact, his first thought when he saw the man was "why the fuck are there bike courier's in the middle of the country?" (Apparently, it was cheaper and the roads weren't exactly great for mail trucks). For he was a simple man of reason. He had never even thought of forming deeper relationships with those he's known for years despite advances. His response was that he "didn't have the time" or "I'm not ready for marriage. Therefore, no point in dating." Old fashioned.

In fact, when he first moved out to the country to work on his artwork he thought it would be the perfect place to get some peace and quiet. After dealing with artist's block for 105 days, he knew that a change was needed if he ever wanted to finish. He didn't just want to finish, he needed to. No respectable Kirkland man would ever half-ass a job and Arthur was committed to the project. Quitting was out of the question. The idea was there.

He just needed the right inspiration.

Arthur's train of thought was derailed as he heard the ever so familiar ringing of a bell. He would never admit it, but the sound always made blood rush to his cheeks and his heart skip a beat. Scooting his chair forward, he stretched his back so he could glance at the dirt road that led to his driveway. Sure enough, the metal frame of the bicycle glinted in the sun along with the hunk that rode it.

Blond hair so golden there was no fathomable way it could be natural, skin kissed by Apollo himself, thighs that could crush mountains, muscles so perfectly toned even the sweat beading down from his armpit looked like drops of water on chiseled mountains... And his eyes. Oh, his eyes were what really first captured Arthur's attention.

Pure diamonds of cerulean, an ocean he only saw in his dreams. But there it was, trapped in two perfect irises behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses that only enhanced their beauty. He could feel his heart pounding against his sternum to a point he was sure the bones would shatter.

 _Calm down. Take a deep breath. Freaking out won't solve anything. Oh God, he's already walking up to the door._ All of those thoughts were rushing through Arthur's head at once, scraping away at any possibility of thinking coherently. Talking was out of the question, his tongue felt like a fat limp sausage in his mouth. His best chance was to sit and pray the courier wouldn't-

 _Thump Thump._

Knock on the damn door.

Arthur cursed under his breath and quickly flung the curtains closed. Damn it all to hell, his worst fear was coming true. A demigod of Greek theatre was standing on his doorstep, and there he was in faded green pajama pants, a cartoonish velvet robe, and holding a cup of tea like an old man. If that wasn't the worse it could get, the poor Brit didn't think he could handle much more.

But despite the flush in his cheeks and the wobble in his knees, he knew he couldn't be rude and leave the door unanswered. So with a shaking hand, he grasped the doorknob.

Arthur opened the door and clenched his robe to make sure it stayed tight around his thin frame. He had self-respect and he certainly wasn't ready for this hunk to see him in a scandalous state. At least not yet. "Good morning."

The smile that greeted him was almost too much to handle. "Another package for you Arthur, I'm starting to get worried about your online shopping addiction."

 _I'm worried about how my tongue isn't in your mouth._ Artie shoved that thought away and took the box out of Alfred's arms. "Thank you, I've been expecting some new paints." He paused and tried to think of a smooth way to invite the man inside. After all, he had to shake out of his social awkwardness if he ever expected to develop a relationship beyond bike courier and customer. "You know, I should show you what I'm working on one of these days. It might help me get some inspiration."

Nailed it.

Arthur was pretty sure it was just his imagination, but Alfred's cheeks seemed to glow bright red. "Yeah. I'd like that a lot." A grin crept upon his features. "You aren't painting any pictures of me, are you?"

 _Fuck._ Artie blushed and held the package closer to his chest. The thought of the American finding out he was working on a piece based off of his daily bike ride would make explode. "Of course not, though I'm sure it wouldn't hold a candle to the original." Where was the lightning strikes when he needed them?

Before Alfred could respond, as if answering Arthur's prayers, thunder rumbled across the sky and a few solitary drops hit the porch. "Crap, I thought it wasn't supposed to rain today."

Just to spit in their faces, the few drops turned into a waterfall that lost its way. Despite Arthur's anxiety, he knew it would be a total prick move to leave his crush outside to get soaked to the bone. "Come inside, biking back in this weather would be madness."

~-~

Alfred gave a smile and went inside. On the outside, he was calm, cool, and collected. On the inside, however, he was screaming his head off. Who knew that a freaky sudden storm would be what got him inside the cute Brit's house? "Thanks, I hate riding in the rain. Especially when you have annoying glasses to worry about."

Arthur nodded and set down the package in a nearby chair. "I could make you a cup of tea if you don't mind, the weather might take a bit to clear up." He turned on his heels and began to head off to what Al assumed was in the direction of the kitchen. "I also have coffee if you'd prefer."

"Coffee would be great if you don't mind." As Al looked around, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed with joy and nerves. The cottage was just as cute on the inside as it was on the outside. Simple brown carpet, a coat rack with that sunhat he had worn when they first met perched on top of it, and a grandfather clock ticking softly in the background.

He couldn't help but explore, soaking in every little detail and he exited the front room. When he entered the living room though, he found himself in shock and awe. "Woah."

A canvas was propped up on a table in the living room, paint obviously still drying since it shimmered under the harsh light of the overhead lamp. A simple gravel road rolling over the countryside, tall green grass and wildflowers framing the path. The sky was an impossible shade of blue, accentuated by the white fluffy clouds and bright yellow sun. To make it all the more realistic, a few birds could be seen midflight across the expanse. Alfred was so busy taking in all of the gorgeous scenery somehow conveyed through a paintbrush that he almost missed what was on that small road.

A dirty blond biking through the dirt and pebbles, dust kicking up from the wheels. His glasses seemed to actually shine in the sunlight, his skin glistening with sweat. It was so beautiful it took him a minute to realize it was a portrait of him.

"Oh my God," someone whispered behind him. Alfred spun around to find Arthur standing there with two cups in his hands, his eyes wide in shock. Even though they were at least two yards away from each other, Al could tell that his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

"Arthur, this is..."

The Brit kept his gaze on the ground and blushed profusely. "I know, you're probably creeped out. It's just... you... I don't know. I'll throw it away if you want-"

"Throw it away?" Al spun around with a grin. "Are you insane?! This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen! Throwing it away would be like vandalizing the Mona Lisa."

Arthur tried to hide the obvious joy on his face with a roll of his eyes. "Oh please, you're being dramatic. It's just a little project, nothing worthy of Leonardo da Vinci. And the proportions are all wrong-"

"Oh, hush. It's better than anything I could even dream of creating." The dirty blond paused and pretended to contemplate for a moment. "You know... there is one thing wrong with it."

Eyes going wide, Artie set down both beverages on a nearby table and rushed closer to the painting to examine it. "What? Did the wind mess something up? Don't tell me I got your glasses wrong. I never got to see them up close enough."

Alfred chuckled and wrapped an arm around Arthur, pointing at his painted form. "He needs a riding partner. He looks awfully lonely."

The Brit's cheeks flushed but he dared to inch closer. "Who would you suggest?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe some sexy British guy with blond hair and green eyes that shouldn't even be allowed to exist because they're so blindingly beautiful."

And with a clink of their cups, their fate was sealed. The painter and the bike courier lived together forever in the small town, their love their greatest masterpiece.

The End


End file.
